Into Dusk
by ninja-v
Summary: Aria T'Loak decided that Omega had limited patience for those who tried to shift the balance in the Terminus Systems. With that in mind, she decided to take action, setting off a series of events that threw her right into the deepest shadows of the Galaxy.
1. 00 It Began With a Death

If I owned Mass Effect, I would have let Nihlus live.

**Notes:**

- AU. Definitely AU. There is a singular goal I have in mind for this fanfiction, and it definitely does not adhere to canon. Expect plot divergence.

- There will be influences of the Mass Effect: Homeworlds and Mass Effect: Redemption comics, and some elements are borrowed from there. Reading the comic is not a prerequisite to follow the fic.

- Romance... may or may not happen, but is not the focus of the fic and will not involve loveydovey gooeyness.

- Written for NaNoWriMo 2013, although its completion will most likely be after November 2013.

- The following is the prologue, which is why it's short. The actual chapters would be around 3500-5000 words apiece, maybe more.

* * *

**Into Dusk**

**00. It Began With a Death**

* * *

When Aria first conquered Omega, she intended to turn it into a constant. A solid particle composed of chaotic atoms, yet solid and stable macroscopically. The nucleus to the chaotic order—or non-order of the Terminus Systems. The last time anyone dared challenging her was the first few years after she put Patriarch in his place. Damn batarians thought an asari would be easier target than a krogan. Damn batarians could be _so _stupid sometimes. Many times. They were never a subtle race. But ever since she showed the batarians the reason why she was able to defeat Patriarch in the first place, everything was in order.

Until, of course, she heard news of geth movement outside the Perseus Veil.

It was a shift of balance that, though unsettling, was dismissed by everyone else. Except, that was, a human Commander called Shepard. When Commander Shepard was named Spectre, she was interviewed by a sensational media journalist. The human Commander clearly had not learned the art of speaking to journalists without revealing anything. It was rather funny and pitiful, actually. And even though Aria already knew of Shepard's mission from her contacts in Citadel, the interview gave light on what this freshly-minted Spectre's character was. Aria immediately flagged the human with a Level 3 surveillance. She would receive alerts as soon as Shepard entered the Omega system. Shepard never did. Aria supposed that was a good thing. A pity, though. She would have liked to meet her.

Then Shepard and her crew singlehandedly saved the Citadel from a nasty dreadnought, a geth army, and its rogue Spectre leader, and Aria decided the human deserved more merit and thus raised the surveillance level. Level 5, with her location traced at all times in the Terminus Systems. A good thing, since soon after she was sent to hunt ghosts of geth in the Terminus Systems. Now she did not need to send her own team.

One day, Bray came to her and said, in an uncaring tone, "Shepard's dead."

"You mean her ship's signal winked out," Aria said, not even looking up from the datapad she was reading. "Send a team to the last known location of her ship and see if it's true. I'd rather we not get hoodwinked by a child Spectre who thinks she's smart." And if she was truly dead, Aria would rather not have Alliance or Council people poking around too close to her castle.

It was three hours later that she received a comm from Alchera. "Ship's blown to bits. Whatever's got it must have been a monster, there's not even enough to be salvaged here. Scanners show four escape pods around the system. What do you want us to do about it?"

The Council was about to owe her a big favor. Aria sighed. "Shepard might be in one of those; tow the pods and bring them here. Omega wants to have a chat with them about this new monster in town. And I'm sure I don't have to tell you what to do with the debris field."

"I'll update the debris and asteroid chart personally. Is there anything else, Aria?"

"That's all."

"Yes, Aria," answered the squad leader obediently. She might not hold a title, but her men were loyal and whenever they said her name, it was with respect and reverence no title could compensate for. Nyreen was the exception, but then, Nyreen was always the exception to many things. Aria wondered where her old lover was.

The team's scouting ship and towed escape pods arrived mere hours later. It was quite a commotion in the docking bay—a rescue by Aria's men was not a common thing, especially a rescue of people who did not necessarily need to be rescued. The pods, had they been left alone, would have reached Omega's ports within less than a standard week. Towing them with a vessel equipped with FTL drive core was an effort not entirely essential to the survival of these people, however important.

Shepard was not among the surviving crew, and Aria was not surprised. She never met the Spectre in person, but it didn't take much to figure out that she would be the type to go down with her ship. The crippled pilot's sniveling got on her nerves, so she shoved the strongest levo drink Afterlife had in store to him and told him to talk. And talk he did, about Shepard's heroic and his stupidity—at which point she pushed another drink to him—and about the mysterious ship that flanked them without warning.

At least the pilot—Joker, was it—could hold his liquor, even though his scrawny appearance might not look like it. He downed his second shot in one go. "It looks organic. Slabs of rocks. Boulders. Like a combination of a Flintstone type of car and a starship. With a reaper beam."

She didn't get the reference—_humans_—but she knew only one faction with that kind of vessel, and even in the centuries she's lived she had never seen one up close.

"Finish your drink and get out," she told him. She curled her finger to beckon Grizz, and said, "Have transport arranged for them by tomorrow. Send the bill to Tevos."

Collectors attacking a human Spectre in an Alliance ship. And not two months ago, that very same Spectre was involved in a war against geth.

There was a connection there, somewhere, but she couldn't place it. Not yet. But that did not mean nothing could be done.

She commed the security office. "Bray," she said, "flag all of the Normandy's ground crew, Level 3. If they're in the system, I want to know. Inform everyone that there's a hostile ship loose under the radar, and they better get used to double-check visual around our system."

"Right away, Aria."

Aria laced her fingers and laid back in the sofa, letting Afterlife's heartbeat lull her as she thought about Shepard, the Reapers, the Collectors—and Omega, somehow caught in the tangled web.

She would find that connection, nip it in the bud, and make sure Omega stayed the constant she wanted it to be. It would take time, but she was patient. Omega was patient.

Aria waited.

* * *

**Next Chapter: An Angel in Omega**

Reviews are very much appreciated.


	2. 01 An Angel in Afterlife

**Into Dusk **

**01. An Angel in Afterlife**

* * *

After more nearly half a century living, Aria T'Loak could claim she had seen everything. Went through the worst the galaxy had to offer, and had the scars as testament to her survival. She had three centuries of commando work under her belt, which she quit to instead freelance as bounty hunter, mercenary, and occasional dancer. She had went through a particularly vicious double booking incident, both her and the krogan competitor out merely in scraps, leaving only a wrecked space station in their wake.

And in Omega, she had watched. She had seen bartenders, dancers, mercenaries, merchants, occasional proselytizers, and misinformed do-gooder come and go. Or come and die. Land of opportunity, they called Omega. This was true only for a select few; for the rest, it was a land they could only escape by going down to the recycling drains. New arrivals came in throngs, replacing the number of bodies disposed that day. It was getting a little old, really, that in Omega life thrived so much longevity was abandoned. All their faces and names had blurred into one and Aria could not care less.

When all this weighed her down too much, she put on a disguise. It helped to see the little pictures every once in a while instead of statistics typed down on a datapad. But she couldn't do it as Aria, Omega's almighty, as whenever people see even a glimpse of her shadow they started to behave, and that was just boring, not to mention inaccurate.

So she put on a disguise.

It was too easy, she thought, to dress up as yet another dancer. She put on make-up to cover up her distinct facial tattoos. Dotted her crest with glitter and glow-in-the-dark paint the way silly maidens often did. Put on an outfit that soon made her face irrelevant, as all eyes would observe closely areas below her neck.

Anonymity was Aria's armor of choice that night. Anonymity, and a barrier she could erect within a heartbeat and a light kinetic shield rigged by her omni-tool.

Aria slithered around Afterlife, fingers trailing people's shoulders, backs as she passed them, vanishing between bodies and leaving nothing but a whisper of Illium rose scent when they turned to her touch. Every once in a while, an errant hand would caress the curves of her body. She had long since numbed herself to the disgust that rose up her throat, and instead learned to take them as a compliment. An unwelcome one, but a compliment nonetheless. Sometimes a drunken patron—or two—would pull her into their personal space, hoist her up their lap and she would smile coquettishly at them as they rattled off their life's story. When she got bored, she would slip off and vanish again in pursuit of a better story.

She did not expect to see a new face tonight. The last remotely interesting person to arrive on Omega was a salarian ex-STG scientist months ago—another do-gooder who was less naive than most, he had opened a clinic for civilians. Aria liked this salarian. He was as likely to help her as he was to shoot her, and that made things less monotonous, for a while. She even let him toe around her one rule a bit. The faces that came after this salarian, on the other hand, were both new and yet old, out of the same mold, and so for tonight she expected the same.

Until, that is, she escaped the dance floor and found—leaning to a bar, watching the crowd with a drink nestled in his three-fingered hand and a visor over one eye—a turian too well-armed to be just another mercenary trying his fortune. There was something vaguely familiar about the turian, yet she couldn't place it just yet. Nonetheless, he was pretty much the only fascinating thing around right now so she sidled to the stool beside him and lit up a smile enough to melt even Garm.

"I haven't seen you around here," she purred, one hand trailing down his arm to the crook of his elbow.

The turian barely spared a glance at her. Inside, she bristled. This was probably the first time in forever that someone scratched her ego. "I just arrived," he said. His voice was low and rich with sub-vocals, the way most turians were and a bit more.

Aria hummed, low enough in imitation of the sub-vocals of a female turian in lust, and he shifted away. She grinned. "Business..." Her hand reached up, tracing the mandible to the cheek plates to the edge of his fringe, reaching towards the visor, but his hand stopped hers before she could take it off and the grin fell off her face. "Or pleasure?" she finished, hushed, her wrist caught in his clutch and his eyes caught in her sight.

He shot her a warning glare, one that was supposed to send the average asari maiden scampering away without a word, but she was no longer a maiden and had never been average. Still not fighting his grip, she said, "Such tension. Do you need help with that?"

He released her with a slight shove. "Not interested, sorry."

Scoffing, Aria made her way back around and in a secret room of hers, took off her disguise, and returned to her usual place.

She commed surveillance. "Get me vid of the lower floor, west wing for the past hour."

The video was sent directly to her omni-tool, where she watched it over and over again, trying to put a finger on this taciturn turian. During the hour the turian never finished his drink—clearly he ordered it for appearance's sake only. He pushed away all other dancer girls that tried to cozy up to him. He was not there for pleasure; that much was evident. Neither was he there waiting for someone, as he did not, in all one hour, seem to call or message anyone. She froze the frame at the point where the camera caught his face, blue markings and all.

Who was he?

He was too well-armed to be a wannabe mercenary. The guns he brought were not heavy, but sophisticated. A Spectre grade sniper rifle, but he was not a Spectre, otherwise the systems would have alerted her. And that face, the face she could not name. She knew enough of turians to notice that he was Palaven-born from his markings, and probably was born in a high-ranking family in the Hierarchy, the way he carried himself. And his visor... his visor. She enlarged the picture, zooming in at his face.

Aria did not notice it at first because the one time she saw him was when he was not wearing the visor, but now the picture was clear. He was the very same turian she saw on a vid not weeks ago, unmistakably striking for turian standards with straight fringe and well-defined faceplates, bowing over an empty coffin and a picture of a dead woman.

Garrus Vakarian.

Fury overtook her as she stormed down her throne to the surveillance room where her chief security watched over things. She shoved him, hard, with biotics, then caught him with a stasis and levitated him a mere inch from her nose. She could see through his four unblinking batarian eyes right into his incompetent brain.

"I met someone interesting today," Aria said through clenched teeth. "Someone so interesting I should have known about his arrival as soon as the relay delivered him. So how come I didn't?" Aria snatched the pistol at his waist and shot him right in between the four eyes before releasing her biotics. She looked around the room at the other guards. "Well? Would anyone like to answer?"

* * *

When a past subordinate of Commander Shepard entered Omega, alone, with no obvious purpose, it was imperative for Omega to figure out why. A quick call to contacts revealed the story of Officer Vakarian, at least since the Battle of the Citadel to his sudden disappearance three days ago. A shadow of motive was found; now was the time to confirm it. In the end, it was not difficult to pin him down, as he had not moved from his previous spot. All it took was a mere finger curled towards Grizz and a whisper of order.

Aria let him wait for a full ten minutes before she let him through.

Garrus Vakarian walked in, posture straight yet his steps relaxed. Save for a pistol at his waist, he was clean. Anto did not look too pleased—the turian must have pushed to get to bring his sidearm. Not that it mattered much to Aria. He could, for all she cared, bring an entire arsenal of firepower and she would be perfectly safe. By the time he made a move to any of his weapons, a bullet would have been halfway on its way to his head. Failing that, he would never get past the guards posted outside Afterlife. The security check was for show—that she set the rules here, not the person seeking audience. From his little defiance, it was clear that he knew this as well, and was set to send a message on his own: that he would not always follow her every whim.

She was fine with that.

They were silent for a long two minutes. She waited for him to say something, anything, and see if he in anyway recognized her from before. He seemed to be waiting for the same thing, standing still in an easy parade rest.

When he didn't look like he was going to budge—Aria was always a little weak against turians and their ability to hold their faceplates in the same position for the longest time—she started, nonchalantly, "Good trick, using a fake ID with a generic name. Not too original, but you turians have always been rather predictable."

He inclined his head a little. "I have been told that I was never a very good turian. But old habits die hard. What do you want, Aria?"

"I never knew Shepard personally, but I do find her a fascinating figure. As is her crew." She noticed his shoulder stiffen. Ah, to be so young and full of involuntary tells. "How was the memorial?"

Garrus didn't answer.

"I heard her body was never found. Is that why you're here? A stop to resupply before exploring Alchera for the noble quest of retrieving your old Commander's carcass?"

Aria expected him to rise to her bait, but instead the previously stiff shoulders slumped slightly and he made his way to the exit. She merely glanced at the two bodyguards by the stairs, and they shifted to stand in his way. Garrus turned tiredly to face her again.

"Omega doesn't really care about what you're doing here, Garrus Vakarian. But there is one rule here that you would want to obey: _don't fuck with Aria_."

To this, he flashed her a charming turian smile. "I don't intend to," he said smoothly, "but I'm not here to make promises."

"And I don't ask for promises. Broken, worthless things. I invest in the insurance that everyone makes a choice to either follow or break the rule. Each choice ends in its own consequences. Yours would be no different." It was not a bluff. Just like how it had never been a bluff when she said she was Omega ever since she took it from Patriarch. Aria gestured to one of her men, who handed a datapad to her outstretched hand. She offered the datapad to Garrus. "Do me a favor and take care of this tainted eezo dealer. He's been messing with Omega's eezo trade."

"Why should I?" he asked, although he took the datapad anyway.

"Because you took the datapad when you could have refused. Because you hate loose ends and unfinished cases. And because after this you could fly back to boring, stiff Citadel, resign officially from C-Sec, and become a good little Spectre to continue Shepard's legacy."

Garrus opened his omni-tool and copied the coordinates on the datapad before tossing it back unceremoniously to Aria. "And if I want to stick around?"

Aria let a smile stretch her lips. "Then welcome to Omega."

* * *

Aria received the report on the tainted eezo dealer's death not one day after. Fascinating. The turian worked fast and clean. She scanned security footage of the scene of the crime—well, not crime, technically, since there was not really a real law on Omega—and there was no sign of him. Just a sudden explosion of salarian head. Very simple. Efficient.

It might be a good idea to keep him around, for a while. He wouldn't work under her, not with his unwavering sense of _justice_. But she could pull his strings. Nudge him a little here and there. That was, if he decided to stay.

Which, of course, he did, as she soon received another report on him buying a flat in the Gozu District. She immediately returned to the surveillance room. He was the only exciting thing at the moment.

The flat, like all sorts of other places in Omega, was rigged with surveillance bugs. Most of the bugs just caught random, senseless mundane things, but they were worthwhile precaution. She watched with rapt attention as the turian settled in, placed what little belongings he had in the apartment, and—clever boy—checked every nook and corner for bugs.

Bugs which he promptly removed except one camera, but then he waved his omni-tool around and that one also died.

Aria opened her own omni-tool and quickly typed down a message.

_I don't really appreciate that. –A_

Not a minute later, she received a reply.

_Would've left you the one in the shower, but nothing is free in Omega. –G_

* * *

Garrus was not surprised that Aria bugged his apartment. It was exactly her style, to see everything and move when needed. If Aria wanted to, she could have cleaned Omega. Turned it into a better place. But clearly Aria was a pirate first, and a ruler second. While she kept gangs and groups in line, she never interfered too much as long as the profit still went to her. It was a very mercenary point of view.

It worried him a bit, that he might eventually had to go against Aria. He was not sure if he'd survive the encounter, should it happen. He was not even sure Shepard could stand against Aria and won. Shepard was good, but always honorable. A paragon of morality. Aria clearly had no qualms in playing dirty.

But that was a track of thought for another time. For now, he would leave Aria alone. Start small, like by punching a vorcha who tried to mug elderly civilians. It was not really planned, that first time Garrus punched that vorcha, but when the two old humans thanked him—and tried to push credit chits into his hands, even though just a while ago they said they couldn't afford to lose more money, he knew he had to stay.

He refused the credits, even though they insisted. And then they called him an angel.

What a very human thing to say.

Turians didn't have angels, they had spirits that embodied something, a group, a cause, a purpose. There were no saviors with billowy clothes and avian wings, no heavenly being to descend down and deliver a deity's wrath—or salvation. It was a romantic concept. A human concept that probably would have been appreciated by asari, who had their Athame, or hanars and their Enkindlers, but not by turians.

But then, Garrus had never been a very good turian.

It seemed apt. He was there to clean the place of filth and scums like the vorcha in the docks, and more. The only question was where to start—and how. Taking down one dirty eezo trader was child's play for him, but a major housecleaning was another matter entirely. So he went to Afterlife. There were other pubs and clubs in Omega, but all the action were in Afterlife, and he did not need to look for trouble—it would find him. It was grand, in its own way, neon lights of low intensity forming pleasant silhouettes of dancers writhing on their circular stage. The place was crowded, yet there was a certain solitude to the fact that everyone there were busy with themselves or their companions. No one took notice of him as he leaned to a bar and ordered a shot of turian whiskey.

"I'm going to drink out of your stupid turian skull!"

See? Trouble would find him, and this time trouble came in the shape of a Blood Pack krogan preying on a sad scrawny turian in civvies.

The krogan had friends, but apparently the scrawny turian—Sidonis, he learned in an impromptu introduction in between throwing punch and shooting—wasn't too shabby with a pistol, even though Garrus had to lend his to him. They could hold their own, and some. In the end the only one left standing on the Blood Pack's side was the krogan. Garrus was ready to use the serrated dagger he took from one of the vorcha to peel open the head plate of that krogan, the way Wrex once said would reduce them to a mess. But then the batarian bodyguard usually stationed by Aria's place came by, shot the krogan a look that made him scamper away, and said, "Turian. Aria wants to see you."

Sidonis made a move, but the batarian raised his hand. "Not you. The other one."

"Wait here," Garrus told his new acquaintance before following the batarian to Aria's pedestal.

Aria was, as usual, poised with legs crossed at her knees, perfectly comfortable on her plush leather sofa. "You don't waste your time."

"Sorry for the brawl," Garrus replied, his drawl easy and relaxed. He was sure Aria didn't call him to reprimand him on his little bar fight, but he was not going to let his curiosity be seen. The last time he talked to Aria she had managed to nearly bait him into rage, which he was sure would be a delight to her.

"I don't care about that. You have no idea how many times that sort of thing happened in Afterlife. Very rarely over a male turian, though. I must admit, I thought your taste lied more in female humans."

He was very careful this time to not show any reaction.

"You're learning, I see." Aria's lips curled with satisfaction. "Keep this up and you may last a day or two longer than the average death-seeking vigilante. Just stay out of my businesses and I'll stay out of yours."

"I'm not a death-seeking vigilante."

"Not yet. But I have been here longer than you. I have seen people who thought Omega was ill and they thought they could heal her. They were wrong. Omega was never ill," said Aria, whose smile vanished as she snapped out the last sentence. "Your heart is full of idealistic justice, and you don't believe me, but this is nature—the strong, the weak, and the top of the food chain." She gestured around, to Afterlife, to her bodyguards, to the dancers wrapped around the poles.

Garrus thought Aria was mad.

She waved her hand. "You can go. I just thought you'd like to know that you're nothing new. Frankly, it's a little bit... disappointing. But whether or not you could live up to your Commander's legacy remained to be seen."

The batarian bodyguard nudged his back with the barrel of his assault rifle. Garrus complied. He couldn't wait to get away from the megalomaniacal asari.

When he got down the stairs, Sidonis was waiting for him.

"You're... you look to be alright," he said, astonished.

"Why would I not be? She just wanted to talk." Talk a lot, Garrus corrected himself in his head. Aria really liked to hear herself talk about the jungle glory that was Omega. It was sickening.

Sidonis looked disbelieving. "People had climbed that stairs and never came down, you know. When Aria called someone up there, it's a big deal."

And yet, Garrus had been called there two days in a row. He wondered if he was in trouble. Then again, he chose to go to Omega. The very definition of the place itself was trouble, and now that Aria had taken an interest on him it only meant he had another problem to solve. "Trust me, it's not that big a deal," he said to Sidonis without elaborating any further. "Come on, I need a drink."

Over around five drinks, Sidonis turned less and less lucid. There was a drawl in his sub-vocals as he looked around the club and expressed his disgust on Omega and its scum—a sentiment Garrus fully shared, though he wondered if it was wise to yell it loud in the heart of the scums' congregation. He dragged Sidonis out by his cowl, the way parents often did to their misbehaving children.

They stopped by the docks, and Garrus leaned on the metal railing as he watched ships come and go, air cars moving between Omega's many tendrils. In theory, the place would have fresher air. But in Omega, the air was constantly thick and smelly. They never bothered with opulent comfort, unlike the Citadel's Presidium. At least that was one good thing about the place: no one here pretended to be something they weren't. Scum was scum, and all he needed to do right now was point his gun and shoot.

"Not that I don't agree with you," he said to Sidonis, "but some of the mercs in there were starting to look at you funny."

Sidonis scoffed. "Maybe I hurt their ego."

"We can do something about that, Sidonis," he started. "Make those bastards think twice before murdering someone in the streets."

"Right. I don't know about you, but I've seen bigger fish we couldn't handle unless you want to put your head on a stick."

Garrus had to process the expressions for a while before smirking. "Worked with humans?"

Sidonis looked down, his expression wistful. "For a while. They have colorful expressions."

Garrus looked away. "Yeah, well. We're not doing this one alone. We build a team. Show people we do things right, and they would join us. People who had lost something to the criminals would want payback."

"You want to put the fear in them, you really need a good team name."

Garrus smiled fiercely, mandibles flaring. "Oh, I've thought of that."

_Archangel._

* * *

**Notes:**

-I love making Garrus squirm under Aria's taunts. Does that make me a bad person?

-Re-review? Please? ;~;

**Next Chapter: An Archaeological Field Survey**


	3. 02 An Archaeological Field Survey

**Into Dusk**

**02. An Archaeological Field Survey**

* * *

Another colony got attacked again. The first was two weeks ago, and now this. Aria drummed her fingers on the leather of her sofa, eyes scanning the report from her patrol team. No sign of struggle, no bloodshed, nothing—as if the colonists just up and vanished into the abyss. She tossed the datapad aside, picking another one. This one was the estimate of trade loss due to the vanishing colonies. As a major supplier of eezo in the Terminus as well as a trading hub for all sorts of goods and resources in the Terminus, loss of colonies meant loss of buyer and money circulation. Whoever fucked with these colonies had fucked with Omega.

Omega could still hold its own—centuries under Aria's rule had seen to that. And yet this was not what Aria had in mind when she established the asteroid-turned-space-station as a constant. This would not do.

As if the day could not leave her alone with her various reports, Omega traffic control commed her and said, "Aria. Alert level three, Liara T'Soni is within the system and making her way to the station."

"Business?"

"Both business and personal. She said she had someone to meet."

Three guesses who. She closed the call from traffic control and made one herself. Her fingers drummed on the leather of her sofa as she waited the other side to pick up.

"Aria."

"Hello, _Archangel_. Busy?"

"Always. What do you want?" He sounded terse, although that was not much of a surprise. He had never been happy in front of her. She hardly thought he could actually be happy in Omega at all, the way he religiously tried to exterminate all mercs in the station.

"I just miss your cheerful disposition. Come to Afterlife. We need to talk."

There was a pause, and then, "What's this about?"

He sounded genuinely confused on top of being irritated. Maybe it was not him T'Soni wanted to meet, but it couldn't hurt to check. And besides, she was not entirely lying. T'Soni or not, it had been a while since she talked to him, and now he had made a name for himself and recruited a couple of tragic figures as his sidekick. She needed to remind him that his little game was only going on because she allowed it.

"Come here and I'll tell you."

* * *

"Going somewhere, boss?" Sidonis asked lazily from the corner where he was modding his gun as Garrus clasped the plates of his hardsuit.

"Yep," Garrus answered. He did not offer any more explanations. Besides, letting his team know that he was meeting Aria—for the third time—was not exactly a brilliant idea. While some or most people went on their whole life never once seeing the pirate queen with their own eyes, he was about to meet her again. What this attention meant he could not fathom, although somehow he felt that it might have something to do with Shepard.

Shepard. Even dead, her name seemed to still carry some weight with Aria, although the rest of the galaxy had called her the deluded Spectre.

Monteague's bright red head popped up from behind the couch she was lounging on. "Need backup?" she asked, a bit too enthusiastically, and Garrus had to wince as he had to re-orient himself as was the case every time Monteague said anything. The ex-Alliance had a moxie not unlike Shepard's, except Monteague was younger and thus more prone to careless daredevil stunts. Regardless, there was something in her lopsided grin and penchant for firefight—despite her generally kind nature—that reminded Garrus painfully of his old commander.

"Nah, I'm just taking a stroll," he lied after a pause. Even he knew that it was not necessarily a convincing lie. As he looked around, he noticed everyone else had stopped what they were doing to watch him. Sensat had stopped with wires still in his three-fingered salarian hand, clearly in the middle of experimenting with yet more explosives. Vortash had lowered down his noise-canceling headphones that he usually had at all times, ignoring the streams of data on his monitor. Even Krul had momentarily stopped eating, which was a miracle in and of itself. "What?" Garrus asked.

"I know who was on that call, Boss," said Vortash, and Garrus felt like bashing his scarred batarian head in.

"You screen my channel," Garrus ground out painfully.

He raised his hands placatingly. "I didn't listen in, if that's what you're implying. But you made me tech and intel for a reason."

"I know." Garrus had never thought before that he would say such a thing about a batarian, but he would trust Vortash with his life. Regardless, this little act of his still stung even though the necessity was there. Had Omega even deprived him of his privacy? Then again, it was his choice. His choice to build a team and recruit a tech to monitor intelligence. His choice to come to Omega. His choice to stay at the Citadel and no longer serve on the Normandy. His choice that Shepard—

He ceased the train of thought. Shepard would undoubtedly smack him above his head with her shotgun if he ever voiced that guilt to her. _Not your fault_, she would say, _never your fault_.

"Who was on that call?" Sidonis asked Vortash curiously, but the batarian stayed silent, four eyes fixed on Garrus. It was clear that even though he knew, he would not say until Garrus approved it.

"Just tell them," Garrus said, bone-weary. He waved his hand dismissively.

"Aria," Vortash answered, and there was a general noise that encompassed various reactions, from Krul's sudden choking on his energy bar to Monteague's indignant shout.

"She pretty much told me to come to her little throne room," Garrus said, shrugging. He grabbed his assault rifle from the weapon rack and hoisted it to the magnetic hold at the back of his armor. "Probably just wants me to pay my respects to the Queen like the obedient subject I am."

"Okay, Boss," answered Monteague lightly, hopping down her couch.

"It's not okay!" Sensat protested, but Monteague just shrugged.

"If Boss says it's okay, it's okay. But I'm coming with." It was a statement, not a request. She was already zipping up her under-armor over her thin tank top and shorts.

Alarmed, Garrus turned to the youngest member of his team and jabbed a finger at her. "No, you're not."

"Yeah, I am," she answered easily, her back towards Sensat as the salarian helped her check her armor seals. "Because really, Boss, you can't expect to go to Aria without at least a shadow." Monteague turned to Garrus, and he could see her mouth pressed into a thin line and again, Garrus had to tell himself that Shepard was dead.

"Alright," he said, "a shadow. That means you stay invisible, and wait downstairs when I meet Aria." Her mouth became thinner, the edges downturned—a general human expression for unhappiness of various nature. "You know Aria would have just bombed our little hidey-hole here if she wants us dead. She's not going to do anything."

Sensat scoffs a little. Salarians were, Garrus had found out, the masters of condescension. Especially competent salarians with STG experience like Sensat. "Not until you put your foot into your mouth, maybe. May have escaped your notice, but Aria's not patient and compassionate."

"I'll do my best to be courteous," Garrus answered dryly before leaving the flat. Behind him, he could hear Monteague making a protesting squeak, but he ignored her. The human woman would follow him anyway, and it wasn't like she didn't know where he was going.

Garrus was proven right, as soon enough he felt a presence beside him, and a quick glimpse showed a very slight simmer and a minute difference of temperature. "Your cloak's getting better," he remarked under his breath.

"Thanks," she said, equally softly, just for his ears. "Sensat's been helping me."

He felt somewhat warmed by the admission. His team—_his_, not anyone else's—had been working surprisingly well, even with the various species thrown together. Almost like Shepard's team all over again, except more rogue and less military.

And Shepard's dead.

Aria would doubtless call this little shenanigan he was pulling off as continuing Shepard's legacy. The asari had been relentless in her effort to push his buttons the last two times he met her. She knew that Shepard—specifically Shepard's death, but a mere mention of the human commander was enough to summon the thought of her death—was a sore spot for him, and thus she endeavored to continuously poke that wound.

The very thought of Aria finding out about Monteague was enough to terrorize Garrus.

"Stay out of Afterlife," he muttered to Monteague as he typed in his fake ID to hail a rented space car. The car arrived, he entered, and waited until he saw a slight indentation on the passenger seat beside him before closing the doors.

Monteague's cloak shimmered away, and Garrus could see exactly how petulant she looked right now. "Hell no, Boss."

"If Aria sees you—"

"She won't," Monteague insisted, tapping her forearm to indicate her cloaking command that she kept in her omni-tool.

Garrus' hands gripped the steering wheel tight. There were times when he saw Shepard's ghost inside this human woman, then there were times when he could not understand how he could compare her stubborn childishness to his glorious late commander. "You can't cloak in Afterlife. Too crowded."

"I was talking about the maintenance catwalks," she said, rolling her eyes. That was a very human gesture that always made Garrus cringe, because how could eyes move like that and not pop out of their sockets?

"Vorcha," Garrus reminded her.

"I could handle a couple of vorcha."

Garrus nearly missed a turn he should take, and he spun the steering wheel sharply. Monteague seemed unfazed despite the sudden tilt of the air car. "A couple, sure. There won't be just a couple."

"Jesus, Boss," Monteague swore. Garrus had learned long ago that Jesus was the son of a human God—_how could a God have a son_, he asked Ash, and the gunnery chief shushed him and said, _God can have anything God wants because God's a God_—and that lately, especially since human's first contact with galactic society, less and less humans believe in their old religion. "Then I'll hide in the crowd and even without my cloak I'll be invisible. And before you protest, I'm pretty damn sure you said yourself that if Aria wants us dead she'll just bomb the base, so my presence in Lower Afterlife won't be a problem," she continued, oblivious to his nostalgia.

If this were the military, he would have the authority to snap at her as her commanding officer. But then, this was not the military. He never had any real authority, other than Squad Boss. She was no longer Alliance either. So he inhaled. Exhaled. Breathing slowly was a universal way to extend one's patience. Then he said, as calmly as possible, "Okay. Fine. But stay out of sight and trouble."

She mock-saluted. "Aye aye, Sir!"

If Garrus could roll his eyes, he would, but instead he just parked the space car and raised his brow plates expectantly at Monteague.

"Alright, fine, I'm out," she said. A few quick taps on her omni-tool and she winked out of view, leaving a faint shimmer behind. "I'll get out of the shadows and follow you in soon. Try not to get killed meanwhile."

"Your faith in me is overwhelming," Garrus muttered under his breath as he exited the sky car and walked towards the entrance of Afterlife. He didn't look back to see if Monteague was still cloaked, or if she was still following. Despite all, she was a competent infiltrator. It was her selfless, reckless streak that worried him from time to time.

Garrus could never get over the fact that Afterlife would always be alive and crowded, no matter what hour it was in the station's cycle. There were so many people passing through, arriving, leaving, in transit, that even though the natives of Omega followed the daily cycle—some nocturnally, some diurnally, there would always be people in need of entertainment and intoxicants. He carefully weaved through the crowd lining up in front of the elcor bouncer and gestured with a careless head tilt towards the door. "Aria's expecting me," he said.

"He's expecting me too, geez! Let me in!" said a human in protest.

"Annoyed: if she were expecting you, you would be inside." The elcor turned to Garrus then, and waved one humongous omni-tooled arm at him before stepping aside marginally. "Courteously: you may come in. Warily: do not anger Aria."

"Yeah, heard that rule before in less polite terms." Garrus slipped inside Afterlife. He made his way through the throng of bodies, to the very back where the staircase leading up to Aria's pedestal was.

He felt immense relief as soon as he reached the staircase, where the crowd was less concentrated. He wanted to just get the meeting over with, but the guard—a turian with markings so faint he nearly looked barefaced—held up a hand. The guard held a finger to his ear canal. "Aria, he's here... okay."

"Aria says go on up. I'd advise you to be careful."

"Bad mood?"

The guard—Grizz, he remembered—grinned. "Bad mood Aria is easy; you just duck. No, Aria's been... happy."

To imagine Omega's Pirate Queen happy was a difficult task, and Garrus decided to not think too much of it. He climbed the staircase and was faced with what the guard had been warning him about: a happy Aria.

No, he amended silently, not happy. But her mouth was stretched in a smile, her eyes sparkling with something. That something, however, was clearly not happiness. If anything, she looked rather hungry. Like a wild animal during a hunt. Her legs were crossed at the knees, as usual, and her hands folded over her abdomen. Her pose was content, but Garrus could tell she was preparing to pounce at any time.

"So," he started, "I see you didn't bother stripping my guns."

Aria's smile relaxed slightly into a lazy one, a knowing one. "We both know you wouldn't be able to take me out today. Or ever. Not even with the help of that pretty thing you brought."

Garrus gritted his teeth. He knew he shouldn't have brought Monteague. Why did he let her come?

He knew exactly why.

Aria had leaned forward slightly. "Do you really think I wouldn't know about your little squad, the way you've been making a name for yourselves? The one you bring today, though. Now she is something else. I heard she went to the same training Shepard had. Except she only made it three steps instead of seven before she resigned."

Actually, Garrus did not know this. Monteague very rarely revealed anything about herself, except that she was once in the Alliance, and one too many ops later she found the pressure too much. He checked the Alliance database as far as he could hack it. Her file was heavily encrypted and he couldn't go as far as mission reports, but what he could access confirmed her story, and that was good enough. Apparently, she was also N3. But he betrayed no surprise and instead said, "She's competent. That's more than what you can say for most of your men."

The bodyguards standing on either side of the room visibly bristled and adjusted their grip on their rifles, but Aria did not seem to be insulted. "They follow orders. That's more than what you can say for your Alliance girl."

"This is what you summoned me for? Insulting my team?"

"I did tell you I missed your cheerful disposition," Aria replied, the hungry grin returning to her face. "Why, you have an appointment soon?"

Garrus frowned a little. First in the call, she asked if he was busy. Now, she asked him if he had an appointment. Was Aria trying to dig something out of him? But what? "No. Planning to keep me all night?"

"Don't tempt me," she answered, coolly. "No, I thought you'd want to have dinner and talk about the good old days with an old teammate of yours."

An old teammate of his. In Omega. He had long since lost contact with his old teammates in the Hierarchy Military, so definitely not them. Probably not a C-Sec acquaintance either, which meant only one thing: Shepard's team. But which of them would come to Omega? Wrex was, last he checked, settling down in Tuchanka. Tali was busy in the Flotilla. Alenko would not go outside Council territory, especially not on Alliance business. Which meant only one person would—but why?

Aria apparently saw him reach the conclusion, as she affirmed, "Yes, Dr. T'Soni is here. I'm surprised. I thought she had come here to meet you, but," Aria tilted her head slightly, eyes narrow, "she doesn't even know you're here, does she?"

"We fell out of touch," he answered, voice even. That was an understatement, but Aria didn't need to know that. The truth was that he never told anyone where he was going. Chellick might have an idea, considering that he left as soon as the superior decided to cut his own investigation short and Omega was the only lead he had, but Garrus saw no reason for his old superior to tell anyone. Except, that was, if Liara had asked around about him, but then why didn't she leave him a message?

_Probably because the last time we met didn't go so well_, his mind reminded him.

"I considered asking her in person, but last I heard she was a shy little asari."

"You want me to talk to her."

"Find out what she is up to, and consider Aria T'Loak owing Archangel a favor." Aria tapped a few commands into her omni-tool and frowned. "You might want to hurry. Feron is leading her right into a Blue Suns outpost. Not very smart, is she?"

"Feron?"

"A drell. Your average Shadow Broker snitch. They seem to be heading to outpost B twelve. You know which one."

Garrus nodded sharply. "A favor, Aria. You have a deal."

Garrus stormed down the stairs, and a figure detached itself from one of the bars to walk beside him. Monteague, face alert. The human had learned turian expressions well, as she seemed aware of the tension he carried.

"Blue Suns outpost B twelve," Garrus told her, bypassing all other explanations. None was necessary, anyway. All Monteague needed to know was that they were going to go there and fight some mercs. That was enough.

"Rescue?"

"Support. A friend might be in trouble, we're there to help her."

Monteague grasped his upper arm—this startled him. None of his team usually touched him, not unless they were in combat and one or the other got injured and needed help. But this time she clutched his upper arm and tugged. "Whoa, Boss, hold up. Aria told you this? Who is this friend?"

Garrus shot her a glower, but all he saw on her face was—worry? Monteague was worried. It nearly warmed his heart, except that he had no time for her worry. Liara was in trouble. Bad last meeting or not, she was a friend. "An old teammate," he said. "Beyond that is personal."

"You mean it's none of my business. Okay." Monteague smiled at him, tentative and careful. "I trust you, Boss."

His gut squirmed a little and he tried not to look at her. This was not the Normandy. They were not going to rescue Liara from Therum. He was not walking with Shepard.

_Shepard is dead._

This mantra he repeated in his mind as they walked, all the way through long alleys to outpost B twelve, where Garrus heard in the echoes a distinctly krogan voice said, "Shepard's a hot commodity."

He threw a glance at Monteague, who was already putting on a helmet to obscure her face. He didn't bother. It was better if Liara could see his face, especially when his armor was almost the same blue as the Blue Suns under the dim lighting of the alley. He took his Vindicator from its holster and extended it, checking the targeting and heat sink with thoughtless routine.

They approached, swift and silent—Monteague winked out of view—and then, the sound of gunshots. He rushed in—left, right, left, following the sounds—and he saw the Blue Suns being shot down by snipers perched on different corners, while an asari and a hooded figure ran to left the scene. Garrus shot down the mercs who were still standing as he ran between bullets to follow the two retreating figures.

The hood of Liara's companion fell off mid-run, revealing a drell's head. That meant he was the one called Feron. The Shadow Broker's agent, Aria had said. Which meant that Liara was possibly working with the Shadow Broker—not exactly a safe path to tread, but he was not to preach considering his own self-employment status in Omega. But what was that krogan said, Shepard was a hot commodity? What was that supposed to mean? Was Liara here for Shepard?

Was Shepard alive after all?

Liara and Feron stopped—two human males in white and black armor stood in their way. Garrus hoisted his rifle, ready to fight, but then a human woman walked between the two males and raised her hand. "Relax, drell. We're working toward the same goal: finding Commander Shepard." Then, she looked straight at Garrus, who had stood frozen behind Liara and Feron, and said, "You can put that down too, Officer Vakarian."

Garrus faintly registered Liara and Feron's surprised exclamations as they turned and saw him, but he only had eyes on the woman. Black and white tight uniform. Authority over the two armored men, while she herself was not armored—except invisible kinetic shielding, probably—as her own outfit was skin-tight with no plating. Hair that fell down to her back, as human vid stars and civilians often had, yet she had the bearings of a person used to combat. And the logo on her chest, an insignia he faintly recognized in yellow.

"Excuse us for not immediately trusting Cerberus," said a voice from beside Garrus—Monteague shimmered back in sight, with a heavy pistol aimed straight at the other woman's head.

"Monteague," greeted the woman who apparently was a Cerberus operative with a smile Garrus could tell after working with humans as fake and rehearsed.

Monteague didn't bother with the charade, but she nodded back in acknowledgement. "Lawson." She glanced sideways at Garrus and provided an explanation, "an old... acquaintance. Cerberus."

"Trustworthy?"

"If she wanted us dead, she'd send her lackeys," Monteague answered, although her lips were still pressed into a thin line of distress and her pistol still aimed, unwavering.

"True," Lawson acknowledged with a tilt of her head and an unchanged smile. "I'm here to offer... a temporary alliance of sorts to find Commander Shepard."

Liara apparently had found her voice, as she said, "Shepard is dead."

Garrus was glad Liara had said it, as he wasn't sure he would be able to get those words out of his throat himself. Lawson did not waver, though, and with perfect confidence answered, "That's what they say, but Shepard's beaten the odds before."

Garrus lowered his rifle—from the edge of his sight, he could see Monteague followed as she lowered her own pistol, even though she didn't bother holstering it. "What does Cerberus want with Shepard?" he asked, cautiously.

"Work with us," Lawson said, already turning away to walk deeper into the alleys, "and we might be able to bring Shepard back."

* * *

**Notes:**

-Sorry for the slow update guys. Please stay with me please.

-Tell me what you're expecting from this story? I just want to know why you clicked and read and decide to stick around. Or not stick around. What do you like and not like?

**Next Chapter: To Trust a Three-Headed Dog**


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